Everybody is sharing thoughts on Harold Ramis today, and this just serves testimony to his far-reaching impact on this world. But my most poignant memory of Harold Ramis has nothing to do with how hard he made me laugh, or how many times the intelligent, witty lines he penned crept into daily conversation.

It has to do with my autistic brother and the first time I heard him laugh.

Harold Ramis died on February 24, 2014 at the age of 69. (EPA/TANNEN MAURY 2005 file photo)

My “second Mom” and my stepbrother, Bill, came into our lives when I was 15. Bill didn’t speak as a small child, as can be common with autistic kids. My brother Grant and I tried to treat him as nothing other than just another normal kid. There were ups and downs, of course, but we all fell in love and became a family.

The autistic mind is fascinating. Billy was sweet and awkward and kind and loving and creative. He would look at art and recreate entire painting by masters with uncanny detail. He didn’t talk, but would mimic others’ actions in an attempt to understand his surroundings (the most hilarious was when a 4-year-old Bill took a beer from the fridge and sat on the stoop drinking it because he had just watched “E.T.” and that was a thing to do.)

And, as with many along the autism spectrum, he would become obsessed with certain things that others might think are random or oddball: Car washes, the Titanic, and, interestingly enough, “Ghostbusters.”

My first memory of hearing my brother’s laugh was when we watched “Ghostbusters” together.

Joe Nguyen is the online prep sports editor for The Denver Post. He had prior worked with the Post's YourHub section, covering Adams County and Aurora. His obsessions have ranged from comics books and...

A nerd who is intrigued by all things extraordinary and otherworldly. When he’s not working, he can be found in a small room, playing D&D, pretending to be a three-foot gnome who charges dragons while mounted on a fox.